The trip back to Irving Island was quieter than I’d expected. Not awkward, exactly, but tense. Devon didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t care. I, on the other hand, couldn’t stop my mind from racing. The council meeting kept replaying in my head. My heated conversation with Loreleia, and my mother’s reaction, especially that sharp look when Devon mentioned the Cult of the Dark Veil. And then, the one thought I couldn’t escape: Camille.

The Magic-Eater plague killed my sister. Camille died because of some cult? I hadn’t even known there was someone to blame until now. The knowledge burned in my chest, fuelling my anger with every passing minute.

When the carriage slowed in front of the main house, Devon finally broke the silence.

“You’ve been quiet since we left Wridel Island,” he said.

“Have I?” I replied flatly.

His lips curved slightly with the faintest smile that was more irritating than charming in that moment. “You’re thinking. Too much.”

That look on his face. Did he think I was day dreaming about him? Smug didn’t even begin to cover it.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I shot back, stepping out of the carriage before he could say anything else. The island breeze hit me immediately and I could smell the faint tang of salt and earth in it. “Not everything revolves around you.”

Behind me, I heard the crunch of gravel under his boots. His steps were unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. “No,” he said casually, “but you’re going to ask me something. I can feel it.”

I stopped mid-step and spun around to face him. His large stature, his stormy grey eyes, the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth; it was infuriating how composed he looked.

“Fine,” I snapped, planting my feet firmly on the path and crossing my arms. “You brought up the Cult of the Dark Veil at the council meeting, and their involvement in the Magic-Eater plague.” I stepped closer, my chest tightening as the words tumbled out. “I want to know everything you know about them.”

The teasing smile vanished from his face in an instant, replaced by a hard stare. His jaw tightened, and his shoulders stiffened. “That’s not a simple question to answer,” he said.

“Good thing I’m not asking for simplicity,” I replied, my hands moving to my hips. My fingers pressed into the fabric of my robe as if holding it could steady the restless energy buzzing under my skin. “What are they? What do they want? And what are we dealing with?”

For a long moment, he just looked at me. His eyes, grey and deep like the ocean before a storm, searched my face. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to weigh how much to say or waiting for me to back down.

When he finally exhaled, the sound was heavy and resigned. “This isn’t a conversation we should have out here,” he said. “Come inside.”

For once, I didn’t argue. My head was too full of questions, each one linking to the next until they formed a knot I couldn’t pull apart. I followed him into the manor, through the furiously long hallways of polished stone and carved wooden beams, until we reached the study.

The room was dark and massive, with walls lined by bookshelves overflowing with thick tomes and scrolls. A fire crackled in the hearth, throwing flickering light over the dark wood furniture. It smelled faintly of parchment, leather, and the faint, smoky tang of burnt cedar.

Devon poured himself a drink from a crystal decanter without offering me one. He leaned against the desk, his was posture casual, but his face was anything but.

“They call themselves the Cult of the Dark Veil,” he began, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “They’ve been growing quietly for hundreds of seasons. On the surface, their goals sound straightforward: overthrow Gaia’s divine influence, dismantle the elemental blessings, and “redistribute” magic and power. They promise equality, but’”

“Equality?” I cut in, that word tasted sour in my mouth. “That’s what they’re calling nullifying magic and destabilizing Wridel?”

“They see Gaia’s influence as oppression,” he said. “They believe the elemental blessings create inequality. That the Great Houses exploit that power to maintain control. They claim they’re fighting for freedom, but their methods’” He paused, his hand tightening around the glass. “Their methods are anything but liberating.”

I didn’t need him to elaborate. Camille’s face flashed in my mind, pale and gaunt as the Magic-Eater mark drained the life from her. The memory twisted my stomach into knots again. If that was their idea of equality, I didn’t want to imagine what their vision of tyranny looked like.

But something didn’t add up. If their goal was to destroy magic entirely, it sounded like something Mundanes would push. They were the only ones without elemental abilities, the only ones who would gain anything from dismantling Wridel’s magical hierarchy.

“They’re spreading the Magic-Eater plague intentionally, then?” I asked him.

“Yes,” Devon said heavily. “It’s their primary weapon. A curse that eats away at magic, leaves its victims defenceless, and spreads chaos wherever it touches. Entire regions have fallen because of it and we believe they’re working on spreading it sector wide. And they’re not working alone.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, my brows pulling together.

His eyes narrowed on me, and for a moment, I thought he might dismiss me. Then he sighed, setting his glass down with a soft clink.

“They have allies,” he said. “Nobles. Officials. People in power who either share their vision or see an opportunity to exploit. That’s how they’ve stayed hidden for so long. That’s why rooting them out has been nearly impossible.”

I gritted. “You’re saying someone on the council’”

“I’m saying it’s likely,” he interrupted, his voice lowering to a growl. “Their reach is deeper than anyone wants to admit. We don’t know how far it goes, but we know they’ve infiltrated places they shouldn’t be.”

My fists clenched at my sides. The idea of this cult operating right under Wridel’s nose and under Gaia’s light made my blood boil. But it made sense in a weird way. If they were just Mundanes, Devon’s bureaus, or Kael, for that matter, should’ve rooted them out by now. To operate this covertly, they had to have powerful allies. That was the most confusing part. Why would anyone with magic back something so inherently destructive to them?

“And their magic?” I asked. “How does it work?”

“They call it the Dark Veil,” Devon said grudgingly. “A twisted form of magic that suppresses or outright steals elemental abilities. They can cast veils over entire areas, rendering everyone inside powerless. Their plan is to expand it, spread it across Wridel’s sectors, and make Gaia’s power ineffective. If they succeed, they’ll control everything.”

My chest tightened. They hadn’t struck Ostonia yet, but it felt inevitable. Wridel’s capital was the heart of the realm. If it fell, so would the rest.

“And you’ve sent the Shadow Sentinels?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “But they’re not enough. The cult’s movements are unpredictable. Their sigils are layered with dark spells. Even finding them takes time we don’t have.”

I froze. Sigils. That’s what I’d seen in the market square. At the time, I hadn’t recognized it for what it was. Now the pieces clicked into place, and my mind was racing restlessly. The memory of it prickled at me again. The strange, cold energy I’d felt when I first saw it, the way it seemed so out of place. What frustrated me most was that no one else had noticed. Not Thalion, and he was anything but oblivious.

“Celeste.” Devon’s voice broke through my thoughts. His tone was calm, but he was watching me like he could see the gears spinning in my head. “What is it?”

I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. Then I forced them out. “I’ve seen one of their sigils,” I said quietly. “And Kael—he’s been investigating the plague. I didn’t know what the sigil meant at the time, but I should’ve’” My voice caught in my throat.

Devon’s expression changed again. The calm disappeared, replaced by a more intense, more serious look. He stepped closer to me. “You can see their sigils?”

I nodded, unsure why that seemed to matter so much. “Yes. Why? Is that unusual?”

“Unusual doesn’t begin to cover it,” he said quietly. “It’s nearly impossible. Most witches and Lycans in the bureau can’t detect the sigils until after they’ve already been activated. And by then, it’s too late. The cult’s dark magic cloaks them, makes them invisible to almost everyone who isn’t one of them.” He paused, his gaze scrutinizing me like he was searching for an answer he didn’t want to say out loud.

“What is it?” I asked, my stomach twisting tighter with every second of silence.

“To say it’s a miracle you can see them is putting it lightly,” he said finally. “You might be one of the only people capable of tracking them before they strike. That changes everything.”

I blinked, his words sinking in slowly, like a stone dropped into deep water. I crossed my arms, as I stared back. “That’s a nice way of saying you want me to play scout, isn’t it?”

His lips twitched. “It’s a lot more than that. If you’ve seen their sigils before, it means you’ve been closer to them than you should have been. You’re lucky you didn’t walk straight into a trap.”

The memory of that day resurfaced in vivid detail. The strange energy, the way it felt like the air around it felt dead and evil. “What does that even mean?” I asked.

“It means,” Devon said, “that you’re more involved in this than either of us anticipated. Whether you like it or not.”

He moved to the decanter, pouring a glass of amber liquid and handing it to me. His fingers brushed mine briefly, and I noticed the tension in his grip, the way his hand lingered for just a moment before letting go.

I stared at the glass, the sharp scent of the ale cutting through the storm in my head. “And here I thought becoming Supreme Successor was going to be the most complicated part of my life,” I muttered, half to myself.

Devon’s brow lifted slightly, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It still might be,” he said. “But this’” He gestured to the room, the firelight casting flickering shadows over the shelves. “This is a fight that involves all of Wridel, not just the Sovereign. The cult’s plans don’t end with the Magic-Eater plague or their veils. Those are only the opening moves.”

“Great,” I muttered, tipping the glass back and downing the ale in one go. It scorched my throat on the way down, like it had something to prove. I grimaced. “Exactly the news I wanted.”

Devon’s lips curved into one of those calm, infuriatingly collected smiles that somehow reassured and irritated me at the same time. “You’re not alone in this, Celeste. Whatever part Gaia’s chosen for you to play, you have me.”

“How sweet of you, Alpha Devon,” I said, a sharp, teasing smile tugging at my lips. Before he could react, I leaned in and kissed his cheek. The faintest flicker of surprise crossed his eyes, there and gone in an instant as he stepped back.

“So,” I continued, arching a brow at him. “What now? Do I just follow the sigils and hope they lead somewhere useful?”

Devon exhaled, a quiet, controlled breath from the not so harmless kiss. “It’s not that simple,” he said. “The sigils are layered with wards, traps, misdirection. Following them blindly is more likely to get you killed than to lead you anywhere useful. If the cult realizes you can see their sigils, they’ll target you directly.”

“So what’s the plan? Wait for them to make the next move? Let them wreak havoc and pick up the pieces?” I said, setting the glass down harder than necessary.

His eyes narrowed slightly, his jaw tightening just enough to be noticeable. “We don’t wait, we strategise. The cult thrives on chaos. Rushing in without understanding the full scope of their plans only plays into their hands.”

I folded my arms, leaning back against the desk, and raised a brow at him. “And how long do you think it’ll take before they escalate their attacks? If their sigils are already in Ostonia, it’s safe to assume we’re their next target.”

“Indeed.” Devon’s fingers grazed his beard thoughtfully. The movement was oddly distracting, and I swallowed the ridiculous urge to see for myself if it was as soft as it looked. “We’ve had no confirmed reports of their activities here since we can’t see their sigils. But now, with your ability, we have an advantage. You must show me where these sigils are first thing tomorrow, before we return to Wridel Island.”

I pushed off the desk, exhaling sharply. Right. Tomorrow. As if I didn’t already have enough on my plate. There was Loreleia and her supposed “mentorship” to survive, not to mention a visit to my mother, who was likely pacing the halls of the Le Torneau estate plotting Devon’s downfall.

“Busy day,” I muttered under my breath.

“We will begin your combat training at sundown,” Devon said. “Take the rest of the day for yourself. Rest if you can.”

“How generous of you,” I replied. The thought of sparring with him had sounded thrilling before, but now? The exhaustion of my day and the nagging barrage of thoughts from our conversation had dulled the appeal.